I look around and consider the world a beautiful place. I know and see evil, I recognize bad or fear or deceit. Alas, each day, when I open my eyes and see the inside of our warm home, full of trinkets and photographs and giggles and dust, I cannot help but be overwhelmed by the good. The laughing. The loving. Compared to it, the bad seems just not worth giving up all this hope that flutters in my heart. Each morning, without exception. It never gets old or repetitive or tiring. A reminiscence of the beauty I saw yesterday, reincarnated as the one I see today. Just like a phoenix, it always carries with it the versions that were. If someone were to ask me well, what is this beauty you keep talking of? I would answer with what is not?

A reminiscence of the beauty I saw yesterday, reincarnated as the one I see today

However, at the end of the work day, a dam is only as resistant as its artist

Living proof of the beauty of it all is my work. Have you ever seen a beaver dam? I mean, truly seen one? With all its cracks and imperfections, it does its job exquisitely. I may know everything about my duty, after all, I have been in the business since I was a little kit. I may know the optimal water level which is required to keep the underwater entrances from being choked by ice during the freezing seasons. Moreover, I might confess I do understand in detail the fine differences of each type of stick, bark, rock or leaf that is being used as a building block of this masterpiece. However, at the end of the work day, a dam is only as resistant as its artist. Indeed, my friend, dam building is an art. Gnawing on a mighty old tree resembles gently carving out your block of loam, preparing it for the metamorphosis.

Why am I telling you all this, you might wonder? Because knowing is certainly power, but resilience? Passion? Determination? It amounts to something so much more precious than plain, simple power. It creates a purpose, a why. A reason not only to get up every morning, but to want to get up. To open up your eyes and see not the way your partner has stolen the blanket or how it will be dark outside when you come home tonight. Driven by love, you will see their smile and cannot help but engrave it on your heart and wear it like a promise. Yes, it will be past moonrise when you return to your cozy, familiar burrow, where the food is warm and the hearts are full.

Love seeps through cracks but we only see what’s broken

Now, you might ask me, how on woodland did I get from passion and determination to a pure, real expression of love? It is quite easy, deer one. I deeply believe that feelings of bliss emerge from the same space. When my kits beg me to tell them one more story before bed, I enjoy telling them all about The Fountain of Truth. There, resting on its sparkly bottom, lay all the truths of the Universe. All one would need to know in order to understand it all. Alas, no one has ever drunk from it, not even a sip, because they claim it would do them no good. To know about all the horrors of the world, of all the lies and the treasons and the way in which people hurt each other. Silly them. Always so eager to believe the truth hugs the malicious and the gray. In reality, one who enjoys a cold gulp of eerie water starts to see it. Everything. The way a bird chirps in the middle of a funeral. A bulb cherishing the rain. The truth in everything. How beauty is there, but we deny it entrance. We do not want it near us because we think we need to suffer a little bit longer because this is what it was all about. But it must not be true. Love seeps through cracks but we only see what’s broken. Do you not see it yet? We were always meant to be happy, in love, in peace.

I realize this story might not suite the more practical minds. I should know that, given my profession. I am an artist, but I am also an ecosystem engineer. Sometimes, the most intriguing magic can be found in logic and processes. Firstly, one has to divert the stream in order to ease some of that feisty water pressure. Shortly after, us, workers, start what we call The Big Gathering: branches and logs and sticks and bark and mud and grass and I shall stop here for you probably understand where I am going with this. The base of the dam usually consists of branches and logs. Peculiar, is it not? A powerful stream of water weakened by mere pieces of chopped wood. At the end, a nice and sturdy lodge is built. That haven serves as our welcoming home.

Because, any change that comes from a place of tenderness becomes sacred

Although this whole procedure is utterly fascinating, I am not iterating it without a cause. I wish to indicate how your environment does not have to limit you. You can play with it, mold it, modify it. You can give it a new purpose. You can help it evolve. Because, any change that comes from a place of tenderness becomes sacred. It gets integrated and it becomes a part of the natural cycle of everything. Think about it this way: you probably consider it absolutely ordinary that dams and lodges are assembled by our communities. Some last, some do not. But we never get mad or frustrated. This is the way it is. After all, if the waters or the winds or the other natural elements are strong enough to disturb the foundation, imagine what they would do to our homes? It is a blessing in disguise. We will build the base again so we can live free of worry. It is not a failure, it is a redirection. What should we pay more attention to? How can we make it more stable, more reliable?

Even salmon and trout love us!

As it originates from love, nature does not suffer because of our construction. It flourishes further. Damaged wetlands can benefit from our work. A variety of precious species receive a shiny and snug home. The water is being cleansed and erosion is reduced. Aquatic life thrives near our sites. I am not one to brag, but even salmon and trout love us! I believe that is proof enough of our contribution. Just because something is changing, becoming something else, it does not mean it will hurt. It does not mean that someone’s place is being taken. It is synergy, it is cooperation and togetherness. It is the beautiful law of nature.

Creating is your birth right

You do not have to be afraid of taking up space, of changing things, of letting the stream find another path. Creating is your birth right. If you do not know what to create, listen. Listen to anything you can, be it a woodpecker feeding, lovers whispering sweet nothings, the clinking of tea pots. Listen, my friend, for in racket there is silence. And in silence, in complete and sheer silence, you will be able to hear yourself. And you already know everything there is to know about your purpose.

Well, I can hardly squint my eyes to see the paper anymore. The ink has almost run out and I can tell my family is getting impatient with waiting for me at the dinner table. I can already smell the delicious stew, already taste the crisp loaf of bread we received today from our neighbors. I shall take my usual seat at the table and relish in all the beauty there is. I would love to have you for supper some day, if you can get behind crouching and slouching over just the tiniest bit. I think it would be quite pleasant, for I am sure we have a myriad of subjects to discuss. At our core, we are very much alike: lovers of beauty, of the good of it all, grounded souls that would choose the blissful touch of passion over anything else. We are dreamers, you and I. But we make reality out of those dreams. I take a chatty stream and make a home out of it, while you take on the whole World and carve out a sterling path. It suits you completely.

Farewell, my gentle one. Be the beauty others long to see upon waking up.